


Forest Dreams (DISCONTINUED)

by Vinctia



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, discontinued
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2017-11-22 03:18:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vinctia/pseuds/Vinctia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(DISCONTINUED, but I'm still keeping this piece of crap around as a warning to myself and others: Think your characters through before you type, guys. Deeper explanation in "Chapter 3")</p><p>A Witcher's tale of a half-breed rogue and an old forest fox.<br/>Shera, a half-elf rogue with a tough past and scars to prove it. Iorveth, a Scoia'tael leader with a thirst for justice to elves and disregard of anyone standing in his way.<br/>Let's see what happens when we put them in the same room.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. From the coals...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which introductions are made and things go bad...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might change the rating at some point or another to mature or explicit, but that depends on many things. For now; enjoy. The world needs more Iorveth fanfics.
> 
> EDIT: This is a new and edited version. Hopefully, Shera doesn't seem too much like a Mary Sue this time.

"Let me get this straight; this Iorveth person, who sounds like one hell of mouthful for the local forces, is our only trail?" Shera asked, hoisting up her knapsack over her shoulder as the small group ventured forward.  
  
Geralt of Rivia, Triss Merigold, Vernon Roche and Shera Farroc. A nice collection of creatures on the road to Flotsam; a witcher with amnesia, a jealous sorceress, a temperamental commander of the Blue Stripes and a smart-mouthed, half-elf rogue.  
  
At first, Shera had been a little reluctant to join Geralt when they stormed La Valette's castle, since she knew Triss would be there with him. And Triss just didn't like Shera.  
She disliked her for her smart-mouthed ways and her eye to Geralt. True, Shera had known Geralt once upon a time before he got amnesia and she had an eye to him back then. But that was back then. Things had changed over the years and Shera's heart had changed.  
  
Besides, he was taken territory and she was smart enough to not touch claimed 'property'. Especially not when that property was owned by Triss Merigold.  
  
"Yes, he is. The Kingslayer was last heard of in this area and the forest belongs to Iorveth," Roche answered with a grunt. He clearly didn't like this particular elf.... well, he didn't like Shera either, but that was for a whole other reason. Ever since the two of them had met, they just couldn't get out of each other's way. Insults and threats had been shot across rooms and from one end of the ship to the other. Apparently the reason to Roche's annoyance was Shera's elven linage and Shera's bone with Vernon lay with his racism.  
  
"Sounds like you don't like him that much, Roche. Personal vendetta? Did he set your house on fire, or overturned the outhouse you were sitting in?" Shera grinned at the sour glare he turned to her.  
  
"Shut your trap, freak. You know nothing of what's between me and Iorveth," he growled at the rogue. Shera frowned at the nickname.  
  
"If I'm a freak, you're a cockroach," she added as payback.  
  
The otherwise stern and level-headed commander spluttered out an angry insult, ready to backhand her a few across the face, hard enough to make her see stars for a week.  
  
"One more word from you, half-bred bitch, and I'll personally hang you on the gallows!"  
  
"Go plough yourself!"  
  
Geralt stopped in his tracks for a moment, listening.  
  
"Do you hear that?"  
  
The soft tunes of a wooden flute was carried through the wind and to them. Both Roche and Shera stopped insulting one another and listened to the soothing tunes from up ahead.  
  
"I smell an elf!" he growled and went forward, his and Shera's fight forgotten for the moment as determination took over.  
  
Unlike Roche, Shera liked the soft tunes which danced through the air to her slightly pointed ears. She came quickly to the same conclusion as Roche; only an elf could caress a flute like that to bring out a melody so beautiful and so... mournful. It was hard to hear, but she could recognize the slight melancholy that laced the tunes. It struck home in her heart and filled her with sadness and pity. Pity for whoever was playing and the things that had happened to make the piper caress such a sad melody out of the instrument.  
  
Shera quickly followed the rest of them as they made their way towards the elf with the flute. The first thing that greeted their eyes was a shadowed figure sitting atop a toppled tree that leaned over the dirt path. Roche growled at the sight, which easily told Shera that this was the infamous forest fox Iorveth.  
As they neared the figure, she couldn't help but find the fox intriguing.  
He was dressed in the forest's colours beneath his armour. Across his chest hung a belt with several emblems on it... emblems of special forces. Nearly every single force was there, except for the Blue Stripes.  
Trophies, she figured. Trophies taken from the men sent out to hunt down the brigand.  
  
But what truly caught her attention was his face and the red bandana covering half of it. A scar. A deep scar, she decided was beneath that. Whatever had happened must have left a deep scar there since she could see a bit of warped skin at the edge of the bandana on his cheek.  
But the other half of his face was beautiful. Stern, cold, distrusting but beautiful. Beautiful like any other elf. The sweet tunes floated from the wooden flute in his gloved hands and Shera was quite impressed by the fact he could caress the flute like he did while wearing heavy leather gloves. Now, that takes quite the skill.  
  
"That's-" Roche began, however the elven fox stood on the log and cut him off.  
  
"Vernon Roche! Special Forces Commander for the last four years. Servant of the Temarian King. Responsible for the pacification of the Mahakam foothills. Hunter of elves, murderer of women and children."  
He didn't spit the words as Shera would've thought he would've done, but instead mocked him in a very special way. One that hit home like nothing else.  
  
"Twice decorated for valour on the field of battle..." he clapped his hands, adding to the mocking of the commander... who was starting to turn red-faced.  
  
"Iorveth- a regular son of a whore!" he pointed at him as the insult rolled off his tongue.  
  
"I've long awaited our meeting. Laid plans, set traps... And now you appear in my forest of your own volition." Iorveth seemed rather gleeful at the appearance of his arch-nemesis in his forest, and he hadn't even lifted a finger to make it happen.  
  
"You aided the man who slew my king!" Roche spat at him, his blood beginning to boil in his veins.  
  
"King or beggar; what's the difference? One dh'oine less." Although the elf didn't smile, Shera could hear the wide smirk in his voice. She was beginning to like this guy... Although he was a human-hating bastard, there was that desire for freedom within him. A phrase she had heard a long time ago resounded in her mind: A life without freedom, is not a life worth living.  
  
Now Geralt spoke up from his spot among the travellers.  
  
"Since when do the Scoia'tael hire professional killers to do their dirty work? A dh'oine, even. You've fallen low..."  
  
"A hired killer, true. But in all certainty, he is no dh'oine," Iorveth countered with a sly tongue.  
  
"Don't make a big deal of the race thing..." Geralt mumbled at him, trying to spur him on.  
  
"Yet race is the very reason we fight! We have pointed ears, yours are rounded. We are few, yet long-lived, your kind multiplies like vermin, though thankfully expires quickly...  
Humans and elves alike, trying to prove one shape is better than the other. Four hundred years of killing over the mold of the auricle."  
  
Among the insults and spitting hatred, Shera saw a bit of truth in his words. Indeed; humans and elves had been killing each other for the mere shape of their eyes and ears...  
And such an act was foolish. Stupid. Ignorant. A waste of time, life and resources... The half-elf found herself agreeing with Iorveth in his twisted views of the world, at least in part.  
  
He looked directly at Shera, one dark green eye meeting two dark brown ones in a brief moment of understanding. For just one second, Shera understood it all. She understood why Iorveth fought for freedom, why he was so hateful of humans. And then it was gone and the half-elf was left with a feeling of loss.  
  
"And no one thinks about those who suffer as a result," Iorveth added with a hateful hiss.  
  
"The kingslayer's among you. We've come for him," Geralt changed the subject, going back to the reason they were there.  
  
"Then our interests collide... The kingslayer is under my protection and I'll not hand over a guest," Iorveth crossed his arms over his chest, underlining his words with a firm gaze.  
  
"You're just another old elf in a young elf's skin, using clever words to mask an obvious truth. This is not about race or freedom. Or even vengeance. You're here because someone powerful told you to be. Someone who's using you. They may wear a crown, carry a magic wand, or even lead a guild..." Iorveth's eye began to fill with a boiling and dangerous anger at Geralt's words.  
  
"But be sure of this: it's not about your freedom, your rights, or your ears. Nilfgaard ploughed you once, now someone new does. Am I wrong?" Shera nearly cringed at his harsh but very true words. The elven leader, however, stood stock still with the cold glare in his eye upon the group.  
  
"Those times are gone... No one will ever use the Scoia'tael again." He answered firmly, wanting it to be known that he was no puppet. Not any more. And he would never be again.  
  
"Who are you addressing? Me, yourself... or the archers in those shrubs?" Shera had noticed them too a moment prior to Geralt's question. Someone was wheezing... Maybe he was ill or maybe on fisstech?  
  
"Enough of this piss! Die!" Roche roared with anger and drew a knife. He prepared to pin Iorveth to the log with it, preferably through his cold, black heart.  
However, Shera tackled him the moment the knife left his hand, making it fly in a lazy arch and miss Iorveth by a hair's length as said Scoia'tael leader moved to the side and away from the line of fire.  
A mere fraction of a second later, three arrows imbedded themselves in the soil where Roche had just stood, shot by expert archers from the undergrowth.  
  
"Spar'le!" Iorveth called and dashed across the log to safety near the shrubs where his archers stood by with loaded bows.


	2. ...and into the fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things go from bad to worse...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, but I've been really stressed and I've been diagnosed with depression and a thousand other things have happened...
> 
> However, right now I would like to call for people with knowledge of the fandom to help me out with beta-reading this, so I can fix mistakes before I add chapters. It will decrease the time between chapters immensely. That and I'm running out of plotline...
> 
> Anyone who has any ideas or have the time to read through this stuff, please send an email here: keepereldervinctia@gmail.com  
> You'll be credited at the end of every chapter you help me with in some way, be it inspiration, beta-reading or otherwise. If you have other good ideas for fanfics within the Witcher universe, but are unable to write them yourself, I'll gladly offer my service for free as long as you have a plotline :)
> 
> Enjoy!

Shera had heard the tell-tale singing of arrows searing through the air and knew where they were headed. She had dashed forward and tackled Roche out of their line just in time, as the arrows buried themselves into the ground two inches deep. Roche would've been a pin-cushion had she not intervened and from that day on she wondered why she had saved him, instead of just letting him be speared like a boar.

"Get off of me!" Roche swore oaths and thrashed around beneath the woman. She moved off of him with a glare.

"Well, you're welcome..." she sneered and brushed dirt off herself briefly, before drawing her dagger and trusty knife to defend herself. Roche scrambled up from the ground and drew his own sword.  
Geralt had already drawn his sword and taken a defensive stance in front of Triss to shield her.

"I hope you know some magics against arrows, Triss, otherwise we'll all end up like butterflies stuck to a board," Shera said with a little bit of worry in her voice, giving the sorceress a side-glance for a moment. The half-elf was flexible and fast, but she doubted she could dodge all the arrows entirely.

"Butterflies..." Triss mumbled, raising her hands to begin a spell. Shera thought she questioned if she had heard her words right.

"Yes, bleedin' butterflies. You know, the little flapping creatures you see in Sprin-" Shera was cut short as a wave of magic swept through the air and lifted an orange-tinted shield around them, shaped like a dome. The very next second arrows flew through the air and struck the shield, only to be... turned into little orange butterflies?  
The half-elf blinked a few times, watching the little things flap around. Roche seemed to be just as surprised, lowering his sword with a both confused and amused look on his face. The archers in the shrub looked even more dumbfunded than the two of them put together.

"...Show-off," Shera mumbled and turned to Triss, only to find her in Geralt's arms, having collapsed from the strain of magic. The shield was still up and running, thankfully. Roche turned as well as he noticed Shera's sudden silence.

"Arh, shit," he hurriedly put away his sword and went to Triss's side, before picking her up and hoisting her over his shoulder. "Triss is spent, so no more butterflies. Let's get the fuck out of here."

Shera went in front of them inside the shield to guard that part, while Geralt went behind them to fend off elves charging at them.

"Back to the boat?" Geralt questioned, walking backwards after Roche as he steered further down the road and away from the ship.

"There's even more of them that way. We must fight our way toward Flotsam." Just as Vernon had stated that, the Scoia'tael came rushing at them most of them from the rear, running straight into Geralt's merciless sword. A couple of them came from the front, giving the illusion that the group was surrounded. However, it seemed the elves hadn't expected the lithe half-elf to be a challenge or they had less training than one might think, for they fell rather easily on her dagger and knife.  
She got a fist to the face and a sword knicked her across the belly, slicing the rather worn and thin leather covering her stomach as if it was butter, leaving a thin, red line in its wake on her skin. She answered with a kick and her knife thrusted into the elf's thigh, leaving him screaming in pain before she hit him over the head with the pommel to shut him up.

"Is that you, Roche? Get your hands off my ass!" Triss was conscious.

"Who did you think it was?" Roche grinned as he stepped over a downed elf, walking with a brisk stride towards Flotsam.

"I'm not a sack of flour or one of your commandos. I'm a woman!"

"I noticed..."  
"We noticed..."

Roche and Shera, respectively, said at the same time, one with a voice of amusement and the other of irritation.

"Ugh, I'm gonna be sick..." Triss groaned, barely able to move as she was carried like a sack of potatoes, her head swinging from side to side with every step. Shera knew how it was like to be flung over a shoulder and carried like that, and she understood just how sickening it could make your stomach.

"At least I'll die holding a lovely arse," Roche squeezed said arse he was holding lightly as he moved out of the way of a sword from an elf behind him, who was quickly downed by a witcher's sword through the throat. Shera gave a snicker. At least she praised herself lucky that she wasn't the one slung over a shoulder and groped on. Again. She'd rather dodge swords and risk getting more scars for her collection.

"Not mine! I'll hold the spell," Triss objected, sounding rather light-headed and exhausted. No wonder. From what Shera knew about magic, that spell was quite the feat. Even she had to admit she was impressed.  
One well-placed fist to the face, and the next few moments all Shera heard was ringing. She answered back with a knee to the groin and leaned shortly against the rockface they were following, trying to regain her balance and stop the dizziness. She shook her head a few times, blinking to make the world stop turning around and that's around the time she noticed the barrier was waning.

"Triss?...Triss?!" Roche kept walking, though increased the length of his stride the best he could.

"Be quick!" Their sorceress didn't sound particularly happy or comfortable. Her control was running out and they were quickly running out of time.

 

Finally, Flotsam was in sight and the guards sounded the alarm of approaching Scoia'tael. Shera had to react quickly now, less she be pulled away from the group by guards mistaking her for a spy. And quickly she reacted. She reached up for the bandana holding in her messy reddish-brown hair and pulled the sides down over her ears. With a little bit of luck and bluffing, she could maybe fool the guards.  
Roche gently put Triss down again. She wobbled and clutched to him for support, her face pale as a corpse's.

"You're okay, Triss?" Even if the half-elf didn't like Triss all that much, she still didn't want to see her topple over and die from a magic-overdose. The sorceress nodded vaguely, regaining her balance and standing sorta straight again. Shera's left ear was still ringing, making her a little unbalanced as well. One helluva punch.

"You all in one piece? Who're you?" A guard from the trading post walked up to the little band of people. Geralt turned his attention back to what was in front of him, after having looked at the hill behind them where two figures had stood a moment earlier.

"I'm a witcher," he answered with his usual gruff and neutral voice.

"Emhyr var Emreis, spice merchant," Vernon told him smoothly, after straightening out his coat as thoug he was a really wealthy nobleman. Shera nearly choked on a surpressed giggle. For once, he had shown a bit of humour.

"A trader?" The guard didn't look particularily convinced, but he apparently didn't know who Emhyr was. Ignorance at its best. With such intelligence, it would hopefully be a piece of cake for the half-elf to keep her ears concealed.

"In spices."

"Uh-huh... and the women?"

"My good man, we barely escaped death... Be so kind as to tell us where we might get some rest. We'll explain everything later," Triss told him with a tired and slightly annoyed voice, answering for both of them. Shera made a mental note to thank her later for that.

"Very well. Head for the market square. You might be in time for the excecution... Some ne'er-do-wells are going to hang- a dwarf and a bard. There's also an Inn and a brothel..."

"Oh yeah, the brothel sounds especially interesting. Take care, now."

So far, so good. All of them breathed a sigh of relief for various different reasons.

"..Too many spells at once... You can die from that," Triss was still out of breath from their fight, her face white as a sheet. Shera decided to keep her smart remark to herself, as a sort of repayment for making the guard shut up and not ask too many questions.

"So...were will we be heading first? A place to rest or the so-called 'entertainment' of the day?" Shera asked as the four of them began walking onto the streets and away from the grassy road.

"Both. The inn is in the marketplace, as are the gallows. Follow me," Vernon answered and began heading towards their destination. Both Shera and Geralt picked up the comments by the various townsfolk, many of them speaking of the Scoia'tael attack but also blatantly asking if they were going to the hanging. As if it was the newest play in a theatre.

"Spices?...pfft, bloody likely..." 

"-alright, see you at the hanging then."

"-three non-humans and a spy! I heard the spy was rather cowardly when they dragged him up there-"

"-are those people? Scoia'tael spies?"

"No, survivors from the attack..."

The half-elf didn't like this already. She thought it better to lay low and keep hidden. These people were more distrustful than the citizens in Vizima, and that's saying a lot.  
As they neared the marketplace and the gallows, the four companions froze in place as they recognized the faces of those destined to hang.

"Zoltan... Dandelion...!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-reading credit: Reno/Selvetarm


	3. Discontinuation Explanation

Guys, I'm discontinuing this fic. BUT FEAR NOT! Once this is published, I will publish the reinvented version.

See, I've gotten tired of Shera. She is poorly built and with a personality that I found would not fit with anything that I had planned. So, alas, I've killed her off. But, I've remade her with a new name and an adjusted personality. Hopefully, she will be more believable now.

My new fic will be under the name of "Conquer With Courage", so if you liked this one, be sure to check it when it comes up. And to make up for all of this inconvenience, I've finally written chapter 3 to go with it :D

Have a good day and many apologies for the mishaps and this whole overhaul.


End file.
